We all know that I’m a handful, right? Like, I’m kind of a horrible person–for which I make no apologies. Even my wife has speculated–OUT LOUD–that my death will be at the hands of someone that has just put up with too much of my shit. Possibly even her.
And that’s fair. I’m not telling her she’s wrong. That would be a flagrant lie.
I totally agree that one day, I will meet my maker at the hands of someone who was strongly compelled to choke the last breath out of me. I’ve come to accept that, made peace with it, and moved on with my life. I’ve also taken that to mean that I can act however I want because no matter what, my death will be the product of homicide.
But, here’s the thing. I don’t have to care because my dog loves me. Jolene thinks I’m the fucking bee’s knees. She doesn’t care that most people find me insufferable and annoying and that my half-cocked antics irritate her mother. Because get this:
Jolene loves me more than she loves JoJo.
Okay. That’s not entirely true. Jolene doesn’t love either of us more than the other. It’s just that I work from home, so I spend more time with her. I give her her food and water more often. She gets treats from me more often. I let her outside for peeps and poops more often. She associates me with lots of fun stuff. And she’s smart enough to know that she depends on me for a lot of needs.
When JoJo and I are both home and JoJo calls Jolene to come to sit with her, Jolene runs to me and jumps up to lay on me. When Jolene lays/sits with me, she is licking me, laying across me, reveling in the attention. When she lays with JoJo, it’s just like “ho-hum”.
JoJo actually screamed “You made my dog hate me!” the other night.
Of course, I just shrugged and intimated that Jolene probably does hate her. It’s called “good parenting”, people.
What’s the point of adopting a dog with your spouse if you can’t play the “Who Will They Love Most” game? There is no point, fuckers. And I play to win.
Until next time…